


how to tame your aegis

by Snappy



Category: Xenoblade Chronicles 2 (Video Game)
Genre: Anal Sex, Bondage, Bratting, Character Study, Face-Fucking, Hate Sex, M/M, Non-Human Genitalia, Oral Sex, Overstimulation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Power Dynamics, Rough Sex, core crystal fingering, malos is a bottom because im smart!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-04
Updated: 2019-02-04
Packaged: 2019-10-09 04:16:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17399903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snappy/pseuds/Snappy
Summary: a brief study on the aegis and his driver's explosive codependency.blatant pwp, malos gets dicked. gay rights!





	how to tame your aegis

**Author's Note:**

> i havent written smut in literal years pwease be nice to me uwu...........
> 
> i didnt really proofread this bc im lazy and determined to get it out for today's horny sunday (bc this fic is for my dear and fellow popefuckers!) so there will be typos and errors. consistent verb tenses? don't know her!

He shows up to the Sanctum unannounced, leaving the Monoceros docked at a nearby titan and telling his fellow Tornans only that he’d be back later and not to worry. He’s lurking about idly in his driver’s quarters, resting his feet on the desk and leafing through papers in boredom, scattering them about on the floor when he’s done. Let’s see...the Ardainian military requesting more core crystals, the refugees begging for further rations, a terminally ill Urayan woman requesting a blade eater procedure. Nothing but a bunch of boring, bureaucratic bullshit.

He hears footsteps echoing beyond the sanctum halls and grins. _Took you long enough_ , he thinks, annoyed at the prospect of being forced to wait for a meeting he prompted unannounced.

“Morning, partner,” he greets. Amalthus flinches, evidently caught off guard (if the gulp he lets out is anything to go by). “What's on your agenda today, _driver_? Any exciting genocides planned for the week?”

“Malos.” his eyes narrow, wrinkles creasing in irritation.

“What? Not thrilled to see me?” he retorts, crossing his arms as he leans back on a nearby pillar.

“Why are you here, Malos,” Amalthus responds, his voice heavy and world-weary.

“Can’t a blade drop by to say hello without ulterior motives?”

“Not if that blade is you,” he quips, leaning over to collect the spilled papers.

“Ouch, that bites, Praetor.”

Amalthus rolls his eyes, reorganizing the papers and heading to his desk without so much as acknowledging the blade. His brow twitches in annoyance as Malos hovers over his shoulder, leaning over him. Amalthus does his best to ignore the lingering nuisance above him. Irritation rises as the blade refuses to leave him alone, and Amalthus eventually cracks, forced to acknowledge him again.

“Did you get lonely?” he sighs, “Couldn't find anyone else willing to stoop low enough to get you off?”

Malos laughs. “So harsh, Your Eminence! But yes, since you insist on getting to the point,” he shrugs. Malos figures there’s no use in beating around the bush.

Amalthus sighs, rubbing his temples and hesitating for a moment as he weighs the possibility of indulging him. Eventually, he takes off his tippet and sets it off to the side, along with the heavy mitre, revealing his long white hair tossed up in a loose bun. He turns around at his desk to face Malos before giving his final answer.

“Fine,” he gives in. “But be quick.” Malos grins, and wastes no time in kneeling between his driver’s thighs and setting aside his cassock. He’s not hard, so Malos has to work him up to arousal with his hands, pumping his length up and down until it gradually thickens to the point where he can slip his lips over Amalthus’ head. He bobs up and down on his driver’s cock, taking him all the way into his mouth and humming lightly at the back of his throat. Amalthus seems to enjoy that, as he eases his hand through Malos’ hair to guide him along.

“This is what you wanted, isn't it, Malos? To be put in your place?” he purrs, tightening his hold. Malos moans, breathing through his nose as he’s held down. “To be reminded of your position beneath me?”

Malos was virtually omnipotent. Even in his weakened state, he’s the closest thing to a god this sorry excuse for a world has ever seen, save the Architect himself. He could so effortlessly snap the neck of every living being on Alrest, his driver included, if he so wished. Whether humanity lives or dies is entirely at the whims of one man’s entertainment.

That being said, it was _nice_ to relinquish control and lower his guard for a bit, to let himself be bossed around. Malos wouldn’t consider himself a masochist, but the occasional bout of pain and subjugation does do wonders for his growing erection.

Blue hands grab tighter at his short hair, pushing him roughly down onto his shaft. Malos’ tongue continues to swirl past the ridges and glorious texture of his driver’s cock. Really, it was a shame that the two of them didn’t get along very well—he didn't get the chance to be fucked with it nearly as much as he wants to be.

 

Malos can recall their first time together. It was shortly after Amalthus descended the World Tree, and Malos was looking for a quick lay. He saw the way the quaestor pleasured himself when he thought he was alone, late at night (Malos couldn't help but to be a bit of a voyeur at times, admittedly). He wasn’t yet the Aegis, but he _was_ the instigator, pinning his driver to the wall and grinding into Amalthus’ groin with his knee.

He expected submission. He expected reverence. O, how exalted am I to be viewed as worthy enough to bring pleasure to the Architect’s blade.

Instead, he received a biting stare, pointed eyes that seemed to drill into his very soul as he stared on.

“ _Do it_ ,” they seemed to say, daring him to go further. “ _See what happens._ ”

It took Malos by surprise, and he’s been intrigued ever since.

 

Their escapades became less and less frequent after the Aegis War. Amalthus took the papacy as praetor and the two hardly had time to interact anymore, let alone fuck. When they did, Malos felt an underlying bitterness from his driver towards him that wasn't there before.

Or maybe it always was, and Malos just never realized it. He never was very good at reading other people's emotions, even less so after his core shattered. Call it a blind spot. It doesn't really matter in the long run, does it?

So Malos had start getting creative to get his way, which was easier said than done. After all, Amalthus was always so...infuriatingly patient. Always was. It’s that patience that allowed him to usurp the papacy, to sink Spessia, to climb the World Tree. But whether it be patience or stubbornness nowadays, Malos had resorted to becoming a nagging pain in his driver’s side, growing until it became impossible to ignore, until his driver eventually exploded in that bombastic sexual energy that Malos so desperately craved.

He and Jin would fuck, of course, but the Paragon of Torna was nothing like this. Jin would give in fully to Malos’ demands, gladly taking a submissive role. He would always insist on bottoming, on closing his eyes and getting lost in the sensations, leaving Malos to do all the work. Jin is never fully present when they fuck, his mind seemingly always floating somewhere else, remembering someone else (his old girlfriend, probably, Malos thinks). He gets the feeling Jin only sleeps with him to fill the void in his heart he lost from the past. Regardless of the physicality of it, their affairs consistently leave Malos feeling empty and unsatisfied.

He needs something more. He needs his driver. The two of them were explosive, volatile together. A constant push and pull of aggravation and mutual hatred that drove them closer. It was electric. It was fiery. It was fucking _perfect_.

“You’re always like this,” his driver says. “Crass. Abrasive. _Unpleasant_. It really is like you try to make yourself as insufferable as possible.”

Malos comes off his dick with a sucking _pop_ sound and slides his hand along the shaft in the interim. “You’re one to talk, Your Eminence,” he starts, slowing his pace down to deliberate, precise strokes along his driver’s cock.

“At least I don’t have to resort to this artificial self-congratulatory masturbation in a desperate attempt to seem holy. The only way you can justify your pathetic reason for living is to martyr yourself with devotion to my _daddy dearest_. Newsflash, Praetor. You think you hate the world? I think you hate _yourself_.”

Amalthus’ eyes burn. He pushes the Aegis off him and Malos wipes the precum from his mouth as he catches his footing and backs up onto the bed.

“Hit a sore spot, did I?” he teases.

“Shut _up_ ,” Amalthus hisses, and he finally snaps, grabbing Malos and ramming his head into the stone wall of the headboard with a sharp _crack_. His sharp nails bite deep into soft flesh, choking the Aegis as beads of blood rise to the surface of his neck. Amalthus is _furious_ , and his eyes look ready for murder. Malos grins, not even trying to resist as his head goes fuzzy from the lack of blood flow.

Malos feels his limbs go stiff underneath him. A familiar purple aura surrounds his wrists and he’s pinned to the bed, shackled. Malos smirks. _Finally_. This is what he wanted all along.

Amalthus at this point is disheveled, his normally pristine, neat hair in tatters around his face. Long, silky white locks envelope his features like a halo. The praetor is fully undressed from his robes now, leaving the expensive fabric tossed onto the ground where it lay.

“Your ego is out of control,” he says, coming around to the edge of the bed. With Malos pinned down, he can barely control his own excitement for what comes next.

Amalthus shoves himself inside Malos’ mouth, catching him off guard with none of the previous restraint from before. He overrides the blade’s gag reflex and uses his mouth like a personal fucktoy. Malos gags against his length and struggles to breathe, gasping to catch his breath every time his driver pulls out just before slamming back in and distending the skin of his neck. He can’t move and he can’t breathe, so Malos can only desperately grasp at the sheets of his bed as his mind goes blank.

Eventually, his driver comes with a low moan, burying himself to the base of his length in Malos’ throat. When Amalthus pulls out, the Aegis struggles to regain his bearings, coughing on the sticky liquid. “Fuck,” he curses, letting it dribble out of the side of his mouth.

Indoline refractory periods are devastatingly short, leaving Malos often exhausted and overstimulated while his driver is still desperate for additional release. Fuck, Malos hasn’t even touched himself and he’s already exhausted. But his cock strains underneath his armor, and his driver knows he’d never be satisfied if they stop here.

Amalthus wracks his index fingernail across the reflective surface of his core crystal, and Malos’ body fucking _melts_. He’s fingering his core, tracing the delicate bevel of the data across his skin. It's electric, it's unbearable, it's everything Malos wants and needs and at the same time if only he could fucking move his body to slam his driver’s head into the wall or crush his windpipe because it's _too much_ , it's _too_ sensitive and Amalthus knows this all too well. He kneels over his blade’s body, straddling his hips as he languidly swirls his tongue across it, prompting a sharp gasp and low moan from the Aegis. Even against the shackle, he feels his legs trembling, his toes curling in on himself, and his own erection straining even further against the tight fabric of his armor.

“Please,” Malos begs, his eyes rolling back as Amalthus’ tongue dips down into a crack in his crystal. “Please, _please_ , fuck.”

“Please _what_ , Malos?” he responds, peeking his eyes up. How the praetor can stand to tease Malos for so long while pretending to remain unaffected eludes him. There's sweat at the praetor’s hairline and flush around his cheeks, but Amalthus looks as collected (and so _gorgeous_ ) as ever. It's downright unfair how easily he’s able to unravel the blade with his slender, precise hands, and Malos fucking wishes he could do the same back to him.

“Please,” he chokes. “Please fuck me, praetor.”

Amalthus seems satisfied, a genuine smile rising to the edges of his mouth as the relishes in the sound of submission. “Take off your armor and spread your legs,” the praetor orders, his loud voice booming like a roar as he loosens the shackle enough to allow Malos room to tremble. and even though Amalthus could do it himself, it’s so much more satisfying to be demanded to do so, to give up control and submit.

Once he’s fully naked, precum beading at the tip of his twitching cock, Amalthus procures a small bottle of oil and dips his fingers into it. The nails on his right index and middle finger are filed down flat, and he pushes the two of them into Malos’ entrance, taking careful caution not to rub up against his blade’s most sensitive spots just yet. He brings his mouth down to Malos’ chest, sucking hickeys into the muscle as he scissors his fingers back and forth, slowly loosening him open. His short fangs graze over his nipples and cause Malos to whine, melting into the bed.

Amalthus brings Malos’ legs over his shoulders as he pushes in, every ridge and every curve sending shivers down his body. The two pause for a second once he’s fully entered, both of them adjusting to the sensation. The Aegis’ body is warm and tight, perfectly contoured to take in every dip of his driver’s dick, and Amalthus gradually begins to move, slow thrusts in and out. quickly working up to a relentless rhythm. Their bodies slam together beneath the walls of the sanctum, a holy ritual disturbed by the most intimate form of depravity imaginable. _O, if the Architect could see me now, surely he would be disappointed,_ Amalthus thinks, gripping Malos’ hips hard enough to leave bruises.

Malos feels the opposite. _Isn't it better like this?_ he thinks, his eyes rolling back into his head with every thrust. Isn't it ideal to just lay down and accept this feeling? Blades are meant to be subservient to drivers, and regardless of Malos’ dedication to challenging that notion, something in his programming takes over that lets him lavish in the indescribable feeling of letting go. _This_ is natural. _This_ is how everything is supposed to be. No Architect, no Alrest, no Aegis, only a blade giving everything he has to offer to his driver.

Malos comes first, his head exploding into stars as Amalthus drills into his prostate in the most perfect, divine way possible. He cries out and his processors go blank, shorting out and shutting down from the overwhelming ecstasy. After a few more thrusts, his driver finishes too, digging himself as deeply into the blade as he can, finally spilling over. Amalthus pulls out and collapses on the bed besides the Aegis, entwining their legs together as they recover.

-

Amalthus rubs the bridge of his nose as he pulls himself back into his robes. “Get out of here, Malos. I have an audience with a representative from Uraya soon. I can't have you here getting in my way.”

“Whatever you say, partner,” Malos says, pulling his armor back on.

Malos hates his driver, and the feeling is mutual. But Amalthus is the only other person that can fully understand him, thanks primarily in part to the hatred imprinted in his core since resonance. There's not a soul on Alrest or beyond that’s capable of understanding Malos but the praetor.

And Amalthus feels the same way, probably. He hates Malos because the Aegis the closest he gets to staring at himself— _damn, no wonder people don’t like me_ , he thinks. Malos is cruel and angry at the world, just as Amalthus is.

_But you made me like this. This is your doing. I am your own vices made physical, your divine punishment from the Architect, forcing you into facing them head on. This is your own undoing, Praetor, and it will be your fall one day._

Whether he wants to admit it or not, Malos is lonely. And at the end of the day, validation from someone else who understands him—no matter how maladaptive it may be, is all that really matters.

**Author's Note:**

> comments greatly appreciated bc i crave validation. feel free to tell me what your favorite lines were, it makes me smile!


End file.
